


Pieces of Silver

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 2x08, All The Love For Miranda, Biblical References, Episode Related, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Miranda Is Not A Bad Chaperone, Multi, Season/Series 02, Silver Is The Worst Cook In History, Somebody Has Been Spending Too Much Time With Pastors, XVI.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6561481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am confused - are you chaperoning for Miss Ashe, or for Captain Flint?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of Silver

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Around the end of season 2, Silver and Miranda have a conversation. (They didn't interact once on the show and it's horrible)  
> Possibly that fits in canon ( Silver doesn't find out about Thomas or anything like that) but with hinting both at past Thomas/James and future Silverflint because Miranda is a smart woman
> 
>  **A/N:** I feel you, OP, these two would have been GORGEOUS on screen together  <3 You also get bonus Abigail you didn't ask for XD
> 
> The hints of Thomas aren't very in your face bc Miranda is WARY, but they're still there :) I got the sense that Silver only really zeroed in on Thomas in s3, but please correct me if anyone has spotted differently.

One man is all it takes. One man who can’t keep a secret to save his life, for a beautiful plan to begin to unravel.

This time, Silver had accounted for everything: Flint’s single-minded spyglass vision, Billy’s watchdog routines, Max’s ambitions, and, of course, the oh so very substantial incentive to stick to the script. Unfortunately, lying didn’t come as naturally to an average person as it came to Silver, God knew why, and he kept forgetting that.

Now he had to be doubly careful. Distance himself from the powder keg, as opposed to kicking it over and throwing sparks at it - a typical Flint mistake. Let Vincent work for his share!

When this was all over, Silver would buy himself a nice little inn. Nothing _too_ fancy, mind you. Somewhere in London, Bristol, Amsterdam, or, hell, Paris; the name would be wordplay of some sort, simple but memorable. Say, ‘The Eight Pieces of Silver’, a set of eight plates displayed on the mantelpiece. No, that sounded too much like being chopped into pieces.

The inn or the silver or both ‘would have been in the family for a few generations’ - his imagined grandfather could have won it at cards. He would hire the best fucking cook in town - no, in the entire _country_ \- and Yet Another Stubborn Corn Husk would have no power over him.

For foreigners, it would be the first stop after the customs house. A perfect place for a quick, dirty, scandalous tryst. Always more secrets to sell. He might allow in a couple of sailors, too, for old times’ sake, maybe a token pirate-in-retirement like Rackham, mostly harmless. ‘Like’ being the key word - no real links to Nassau and his past with it, thank you very much.

He almost didn’t hear the soft footsteps on the ladder, too soft to be either of the troublesome scouts.

“Miss Ashe?” He rose to his feet with the half-unshucked ear of corn in hand. “Oh, you have startled me! And may I just say, what a _pleasant_ surprise it is! How can I be of service?”

He had been explicitly told not to talk to this invaluable passenger, first by Himself, then by the watchdog, and frankly, Silver’s mind was already running in circles without any added intrigues. However, _she_ had come to him, out of her own volition and without a single overture on his part, so his (current) name wouldn’t be John Silver if he missed such a golden opportunity to make a favourable impression.

The young lady regarded him with timid but inquisitive eyes. He might or might not have overheard her asking Mrs. Barlow, “What kind of man is Mr. Silver?” But he was definitely in the dark as to Mrs. Barlow’s answer.

“May I look around?” Miss Ashe asked softly. “For my... notes.”

“But of course!” He gestured around with the air of a tavern host. “Allow me to give you a tour.”

She glanced between the husk and the barrel. “I mustn’t distract you from your work.”

He tossed the work back into where it belonged. “A little distraction can never hurt. So tell me,” his voice dropped to a confidential whisper, “just how often _do_ you sneak into the kitchens at night?”

She feigned innocence, not very convincingly. “How did you _know_?”

“Oh, I have a sixth sense for such things.” He might have tried to be a bit more modest, but then again, Miss Ashe was here for a famous pirate cook (yes), not a humble sailor. “In me, you have found yourself a willing accomplice, Miss.”

Most of the tools of the trade were still a mystery to him, so he focused on what he _had_ got on speaking terms with, such as the stove. He himself had always wondered how on earth people managed to prepare meals on a wooden ship without setting it on fire - and go as far as fry fish on open deck!

Miss Ashe was a gratifying audience, her pauses thoughtful and her questions almost _too_ insightful. Could he, Silver, truly be so new to this life? Did he still find it difficult to adjust to? Did pirates ever have any qualms about killing sea turtles and digging up their eggs? Had he ever cooked a whole shark for dinner?

“I have once failed to cook a whole pig.” Halfway through the anecdote, it hit him that it was probably too crude for a young lady’s ears.

“That poor creature!” Miss Ashe was giggling. “After maggot-infested bread, I do believe I can stomach anything, even such villainy.”

He protested that his intentions had been nothing _but_ pure - it had been an honest mistake. He _could_ actually do his job. At any rate, most of the credit for saving the day went to Captain Flint, who should appreciate Silver’s effort in making him out to be the hero and the last bastion between the men and a food poisoning.

He added craftily: “Should you, in the course of your investigation, stumble upon the secret behind the Captain’s knowledge of cookery… Well, do not hesitate to share it with yours truly.”

“Well, Naval- Um.” She clammed down immediately, like someone who had already said too much.

He pretended not to notice anything, stashing away that little slip for a later examination.

Her gaze caught on the front of his shirt. “Is that a sea animal or a cross?”

He chuckled, pulling the necklace out from under his shirt. It was an ornate, finely detailed silver cross, the way Catholics liked to wear them, and it took some effort to keep it nice and shiny. “It is but a simple good luck charm.” He had originally acquired it all the better to fit in, which never hurt one’s chances in itself. “But yes, you _have_ uncovered yet another pirate custom - and we are as vain as magpies.”

“It comes with a matching ring,” she observed. “Does it matter which finger you wear it on?”

“No, the placement bears no hidden meaning, as far as _I_ know.”

In high society, men and women alike flaunted their jewelry, passing hidden messages - it was funny how much their two worlds mirrored each other in that, of all things.

“Some of us get a new trinket after each boarding,” Silver told his guest.

“What about mourning pieces? Or _memento mori_?”

“Oh, the sea, it leaves little room for mourning. As to grim reminders, we need but to look at one another or up at our black flag.”

The girl’s smile waned. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but doesn’t it weigh on you? The constant uncertainty of your new life, the violence, the ceaseless awareness that each day may be your last?” She spoke with a curious kind of compassion, borne of an invasion - their stories invading hers.

“How succinctly put!” He leaned against the table, wrinkling his nose at a whiff of the salt-fish. “All those things do weigh on me personally, myself being a reasonable man, but what else is there? When you have no family support to speak of, no means of obtaining a good education, and no endurance for back-breaking toil. Faith? Accepting your lot in life?” His smile grew wryer. “But, I imagine, you are more familiar with having limited opportunities than one might suppose.”

Miss Ashe studied him for a long moment before saying: “Thank you, Mr. Silver. You have given me plenty of, um, food for thought.”

He grinned. “One of my _best_ dishes. Also, going back to your previous questions, if anyone knows more about jewelry, tattoos, and other bodily decorations, it’s Mr.Bones.” What better way to keep him off the scent than such a distraction?

“Abigail?” another voice called out, none too pleased.

Caught with her hand in the biscuit jar, Miss Ashe beat her retreat.

Silver inclined his head, unabashed. “Mrs. Barlow.”

“Mr. Silver. Is everything alright down here?”

“Perfectly alright, ma’am.”

From the lack of proper introductions, one might suppose that Flint was _ashamed_ of him. Well, the less scrutiny, the better. It wasn’t as if he was planning on becoming a fixture.

With a glance that was utterly unreadable, Mrs. Barlow put a protective arm around Miss Ashe’s shoulders. Ah, the power of a single look. Mrs. Barlow halted, then seemed to reach a decision, and led her charge away without another word.

No sooner had he returned to his gold-tinted fantasies than the reputed witch was back on stage, alone.

“What can I do for you?” he inquired. “Coffee? Or perhaps some chocolate?” He had no idea how to make one out of two. No, actually, _two_ out of two.

“Out of curiosity, if I said ‘yes, please’, what would you do?”

“I would follow your instructions most faithfully.”

“What did you and Miss Ashe talk about?” Mrs. Barlow stepped closer to peer into his barrel, as if the answer could be found down there.

“Miss Ashe had a few questions about the inner workings of a pirate galley.”

“Really? Your cobs have not a tassel between them. Whoever purchased them has made you work double time.” Which was rather the point, he would say. “It used to make me so nervous, buying fruit and vegetables on the market. So many things to be wary of, in this climate.” She took the cob from Silver. “Goat feed, that’s what this is. A good ear of corn ought to feel firm and heavy in your hand.” She picked out another one and casually handed them both back. “Here, note the difference.” She had said all that with a _completely_ straight face.

“Right,” he uttered, flustered.

“The husk itself should look fresh and hold tightly around the ear,” she continued. “If the outer leaves or the leaves around the top seem dry and loose, discard it.”

“Got it!”

“You have been leaving some green on because it’s less effort, I imagine. But actually, it’s also the best way to roast it. Without the cover, it would need some lubrication, like a quick brush of olive oil or butter.”

He chuckled. “Well now, I am _almost_ convinced you have been roasting corn your entire life.”

She smiled - and sat down to _help_. Not that he didn’t welcome it, but it was also fairly nerve-wracking.

“Worms always find the sweetest corn, though.”

He frowned. “Is that a fact, or a proverb?”

She did not reply at once. “I know about all the parts you have played in the hunt for the _Urca_ gold, Mr Silver. The thief. The first to the door when Mr. Gates died.” ‘Died’. Not ‘was murdered by my special friend’. “The enabler. The impromptu political advisor and aide.” He rather liked the latter pair. “But also the one who has pulled James out of the water.”

“We are all of us many people. Out of curiosity, had I known about you and your influence over the Captain, and asked you to mediate in the original transaction, would you have done it? Or would you have been angry with me?”

She tore at the greenstuff with redoubled zeal. “‘My influence over him’? What influence would that be?”

“You are his anchor. The one who won’t let him sink to the bottom. No, wait, those are two different things.” Silver caught her eyes on him. “The one person whose judgement he truly fears, which is precisely why you have distanced yourself from the things he does. Some part of you must realise that and feel reluctant to hold him back.” It struck him suddenly: “Even now, you are wondering whether you aren’t steering him in the wrong direction-”

She cut him off with a, “You presume too much, Mr. Silver.”

“Forgive me, ma’am, my tongue does tend to run away with me.”

More shadows settled on her face, revealing the years that her smile and voice could easily conceal. “If that tongue of yours has the power to sway a mind like James’s, it is a terrible fugitive indeed. I wonder if you realise just _how_ terrible.”

“I am confused - are you chaperoning for Miss Ashe, or for Captain Flint?” The very _idea_ that Captain Flint might need a chaperone was positively hysterical.

“ _What will you give me, and I will deliver him unto you?_ ” Mrs. Barlow recited. “ _And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver. And from that time he sought opportunity to betray him._ ”

His smile was fraying like a rope being cut. “The Bible?”

“Indulge me.”

“Not a lot of money, is it? Thirty pieces. Those priests must have been far richer than that. Why not ask for more?”

“So it is a matter of the right price for you?”

 _Shit_! “I did not say that.”

“Thirty pieces of silver is the exact price to be paid to the master of a slave if and when the slave was gored by an ox. Once, when herding sheep, Zechariah asked his employers to pay him what they thought he was worth. They gave him this paltry sum, as an insult, and God told him to ‘throw it to the potter.’”

“It was meant as an insult, then? That makes sense, the priests hated him, but still, why would _Judas_ go along with it? If he was in it for the coin and the coin alone.”

“The Bible is full of such contradictions. Why do you think it is so entertaining to quote?”

Everybody filled in the blanks for themselves, revealing their true selves as they did so. He would remember that.

“If you ask me, some strong feelings must have been at play,” he said. “Anger, jealousy, hatred, you name it. A betrayal with a _kiss_? One hell of a dramatic gesture, when pointing your finger would have sufficed.” He and Mrs. Barlow were nowhere near the end of the corn. “Or perhaps he and Jesus had planned the whole thing together. After all, you can’t have a grand resurrection without an equally grand death first, can you?”

Mrs. Barlow chuckled. “Now that is an interesting theory.”

“It was inspired by an interesting conversation partner.” It almost made him wish that the wind would die down for a while.

She had yet more to say on the subject of Judas: “One of the key biblical words for worship, ‘ _proskuneo_ ’, means to ‘kiss towards’. Their kiss wasn’t meant merely as a sign of friendship, kinship or a different form of intimacy.” Wait a moment, had she just… “It _was_ an act of worship, which is how the betrayal could be so complete.”

He couldn’t stop himself from saying: “There is treachery in all worship, you know.”

“How so?” she asked eagerly, almost hungrily.

“You put something or someone before yourself, you betray your own self. And then the next question is, which betrayal _is_ the greater?”

She looked at him and wondered. “You are fundamentally a selfish person, Mr. Silver. It takes one to know one.” _That_ had been unexpected, to say the least. “After this voyage, your and James’s paths will diverge. But if they don’t, if you remain by his side when I cannot, I ask that you find a way to get what you want _without_ betraying his trust.”

Unbelieveable. “What would Mr. Gates have to say to that?”

Easy for her to defend the Captain - _she_ was safe from him. She and nobody else, and there was nothing dramatic or unnecessary about self-defence, pure and simple. That was where all parallels ended.

“You are not Mr. Gates,” she countered. “You are _far_ less scrupulous. But more importantly, you see opportunities that others see closed doors. If someone _can_ find a way, it’s you.”

Ah, flattery. Nobody was immune to that. And she hadn’t denied the danger.

He fanned himself. “Phew, I feel like I’ve just been through another vote!”

She smiled, but before she could say another word, there were shouts coming from above them, followed by frantic running around. A rigger had just fallen to his death.

The two of them never did get to the bottom of the barrel.

**Author's Note:**

> Miranda and Silver plotting together over that page - or just having tea in s1, though ;) She'd eat him for breakfast!
> 
> Also, the whole husking business is my guess why Silver was such a Cinderella half the ep XD


End file.
